Running Up That Hill
by Knune
Summary: This wasn’t her real life. It was imaginary, fake. A world made up of broken dreams and promises. Nightmares left behind and replaced with cold comfort in the arms of an enemy. Claire/Wesker
1. Fool for Love

Running Up That Hill

(Fool for Love)

Claire Redfield was not the kind of woman who was often noticed by people.

She was casual, a jeans and t-shirt girl. A wake up on a Sunday morning and lay on the couch all day with a good book in hand girl. She wasn't that woman who turned heads when she walked by, in her pencil skirt and five inch stiletto heels, Louis Vuitton purse on her shoulder and Dolce and Gabbana on the bridge of her nose. She didn't want to be that woman.

But sometimes Claire had to do things she didn't want to do. Like wear a dress. Against her will, once a month she packed away the comfy jeans and ponytail holder and walked through the streets in an a-line sleeveless black dress, teetering on too high heels.

She had a cab drop her off two blocks away, begrudgingly regretting the fact that she couldn't ride her motorcycle wearing a dress this short, and now strolled the rest of the way.

Claire looked like she belonged downtown and had somewhere important to be. She could be the CEO of a large company or the wife of a senator. The only item that stuck out like a sore thumb was the backpack slung across her shoulders. No matter how elegant she was trying to look, she refused to carry a purse.

Blowing a rogue strand of hair out of her face, she tucked the lock behind her ear. Her hair was down, a rarity for sure, flowing over her shoulders with curls framing her face. It took her an hour to get it to look just right but the finished product was almost perfect. She never spent that much time on her hair (five minutes tops and one minute on makeup) and she still couldn't wait for the moment she could gather the hair and pull it up into its normal ponytail.

Tugging on the hem of her dress to cover up the expanse of thigh exposed by the lack of material, Claire stopped in front of the largest building she'd ever seen in her life. No, she'd seen bigger but this place just had a larger than life feeling to it with it's perfect glass doors and diamond chandeliers hanging from cathedral ceilings, black and white marble columns and tile flooring so stunning she could see her reflection in them.

The building was palacial in every sense of the word and the only place Claire would ever put on a dress to go to. Just by looking at it, she could tell that the structure would swallow her whole if she stood there for too long, digest her slowly over a thousand years.

The doorman, decked out in a rather unattractive green suit trimmed in yellow, tipped his hat toward her and pulled the golden handle on the door open. "Miss Redfield," he greeted with familiarity, a soft smile on his face.

The deep lines around his eyes crinkled as he smiled at her. He looked like a typical grandfather type with tufts of gray hair sticking out from beneath the hat, creases in his brow and twinkling blue eyes that hid behind a pair of gold bifocals. He was gentle as a lamb and always good for a tip on the stock market.

"Ralph, I keep telling you to call me 'Claire.'" She reached out and wrapped her fingers around his forearm, her red nails clashing with the yellow and green. "How're you?"

"Just fine, Miss Redfield," Ralph replied, chuckling amiably. No matter how she many times she told him to call her "Claire", he never did. A stickler for old school manners until the end.

Pulling her hand back, she stopped short of the threshold, her eyes skirting past Ralph and into the lobby beyond the doors. "And the girls?" Her focus darted back to Ralph when she noticed nothing of interest in the immediate foyer.

"Acing the third grade." Ralph gestured to the door with a white gloved hand, pristine as the day they came out of the package. He glanced up at the darkening skies above. "Going to rain, Miss Redfield. You'd best get inside."

She hadn't even noticed the black clouds looming overhead or the wind swirling and pushing at her dress. Leaves danced at her feet like a spring production of Swan Lake. Her fingers grasped the hem of her dress to keep the thin material from flying up. She was already showing too much skin.

"We'll catch up later," she promised and then ducked inside the glass doors before she got caught in the upcoming downpour.

Her heels clicked harshly against the tile flooring and she always felt each step was announcing her presence to the entire lobby. She constantly expected every eye to turn toward her, turn up their noses and make snide comments behind well manicured hands.

They would know she didn't belong. She was a fraud and eventually would be found out. "What is she doing here?"

But nobody so much as glanced in her direction. Claire wasn't an anomaly here. She was just another well dressed, beautiful woman walking through the lobby of a five star hotel. Although she probably was the only well dressed woman with a bright pink Jansport backpack strapped across her shoulders.

The front desk associate greeted her with bleached white teeth and a firm handshake. "Welcome!" Eric, as his nametag read, was stuck in a dreadful peach and black outfit that made him look like rotting fruit still on the tree.

Stifling a laugh, Claire slammed her backpack down on the counter and rifled through it. "Hello, Eric. Checking in." She pulled out a stack of cards, credit cards, library cards, bank cards (naturally not all in her name) and sifted through them until a driver's license fell onto the counter in front of her. She slid it over to the Eric with her index finger, a smooth, unashamed smile on her face.

Eric, like a good employee, asked no questions. He made quick work of the computer, gave her a rundown of the activities going on throughout the week and even gave her a complimentary bar of chocolate (which Claire snatched and shoved into her bag so quickly it was like a magic trick).

"Has anyone else checked into the room?" she asked casually, slipping her bag back in place, room key in hand. She hated being the first one to arrive. There was a certain mystique to being late, being waited on. It left an inkling of wonder in the mind.

Checking the computer, his fingers flying over the keyboard, Eric shook his head a moment later. "You're the only party checked into the room," he told her, looking up at her, that smile still on his face, like it was a permanent facial feature and he never had a bad day.

"Party for one then," Claire muttered, nodding her head in thanks.

She was never sure if she was supposed to tip the front desk associate. She knew to tip the doorman on her way out (and shoot the shit with him for a half an hour about sports and high yield bonds) but other than that, she failed the course. She turned and walked away, never knowing if the person who checked her in was shooting her daggers.

The hotel had a piano bar in it, complete with a player who looked somewhat like Billy Joel. It was kind of uncanny and Claire sat at the bar with "Piano Man" running through her head, her eyes fixated on the look alike. She wondered idly if his microphone smelled of beer.

She ordered a White Russian and sat quietly, her legs dangling off the too high stool. The bartender attempted to strike up a conversation with her but Claire's face plainly read "leave me alone" and he eventually gave up and moved to the other side of the bar where a blonde with full, plastic lips was on her fifth martini and looking kind of lonely.

After two hours of swinging her legs in rhythm with the piano, nursing the same White Russian, Claire was about to give up and head up to the room. At least she could take a nice, long bath up there, soak in chocolate scented bubble bath and drift off to sleep reading a book. Piano Man was starting to grind on her nerves.

Throwing a tip down on the bar, she was about to turn and leave when she felt a hand brush against her bare shoulder. She smiled, shuddering slightly from the touch, a thousand bolts of electricity rushing through her body in excitement. Her heart beat sped up, blood pumping through her veins at an accelerated rate.

"You're late," she murmured, twirling around in her stool, the drink in her hand sloshing over the side of her glass. Unfortunately, the face looking down at her was unfamiliar.

"Sorry, you're waiting for someone, aren't you?" the stranger asked, his hand stretched out in the air. He was a rather nice looking guy, eyes so blue she could swim in them and a perfectly symmetrical face.

If Claire knew anything it was that "beauty is about symmetry". "Oh, uh, yeah. I guess so."

"You guess so?" The guy looked slightly amused, big blue eyes twinkling at her, mouth turned up at the corners. "Sounds like maybe you were just waiting for me to come over here." He emphasized the word "me" and stuck his thumb out into his puffed out chest. A baboon truly looking for a mate.

Claire shook her head, wanting to nip this in the bud before this guy got the idea that she was playing hard to get. She wasn't that type of woman either. Playing hard to get wasn't in her encyclopedia of communication and actions. She just wasn't wired that way.

"No, I'm waiting for…my husband," she stated brazenly, a too long pause hanging cautiously in the middle of that sentence.

The guy glanced down at her, his eyes skimming over her body, taking an apparent assessment. "I don't see a ring on your finger," he pronounced after a moment, a grin spreading out over his lips like he had just won the grand prize and figured her out. "Why don't we go up to your room. See what you've got going on under that dress."

Symmetry wasn't so attractive anymore.

Her fingers instinctively reaching for her necklace, she was about to let this guy have it. She just didn't need this. She felt the gun she had strapped to her inner thigh rub against her skin and she wished she could grab it and blow this jerk away. Two bullets to the chest and one to the forehead. Very professional.

Instead, her fingers tightened around the necklace, her index finger dipping into the platinum ring held around her neck by the white gold chain. She opened her mouth to tell this guy where to go, to leave her alone before she socked him in the stomach and screamed "rape" (which she would do, given the right circumstances).

Claire never got the chance though, which was too bad because she was really looking forward to kneeing him below the waist. She heard a voice speak up from behind her, a deep baritone that could not be mistaken.

It was the sort of voice that resonated, stayed in the mind for weeks and made a person weak in knees. "Dear heart, am I interrupting?"

Whipping around, Claire's hand dropped to her side, a coy smile ghosting over her lips. She had to admit the guy had good timing. "You're late," she said softly, her eyes darting over to the symmetrical but no longer so attractive face.

Dressed head to toe in black, an out of place Johnny Cash, Wesker's hidden eyes trailed over her body, the tilt of his head giving away the direction of his gaze. "My apologies. I was held up." He reached a gloved hand out and grabbed the strap of Claire's backpack and placed the other hand on her arm, staking his claim on the woman.

It was so primal, Claire wanted to laugh. Ridiculous. The dominant male in the tribe had declared his mate, the only thing missing was growling and the baring of razor sharp teeth.

"It's quite all right." She tilted her head at the stranger still in her presence. "Thank you for keeping me company but we have dinner plans," she lied easily enough through her teeth.

She hooked her arm in Wesker's and smirked at the stranger who was staring at this strange man dressed all in black and wearing sunglasses indoors of all places. The stranger practically had his eyebrows pegged to the top of his head and he opened his mouth to speak but Claire didn't let him get that far. She turned on her heel and walked out with Wesker, the clicking announcing her departure.

They walked together to the elevator in silence, arm in arm, black and black. They were quite the pair, looking sharp together. Sophisticated and important. Except Claire was sure onlookers would think they had just returned from a funeral.

She craned her head up to watch the numbers descend down to one. Once inside and the doors shut tightly, she let go of Wesker's arm and punched the button for the sixth floor.

Wesker kept a tight grip on the strap of the backpack, the black leather glove cracking from the hold. He kept his head forward, his arms dangling cautiously by his side. His face was stone, calm and collected, and his body rigid and upright.

She hated how awkward it always was at first. She didn't know what to say and what was going on in his head was always a wonderment to her. She would never know what he was thinking. There were so many things she wanted to say and when she opened her mouth to let one of the many topics slip from her lips, the elevator doors opened to the sixth floor.

Claire slipped the keycard into the reader and pushed open the door. The room was as impressive as the rest of the hotel. It was a suite, as usual, complete with a living area and separate bedroom. Claire set the keycard down on the dining table and slipped her shoes off, pushing them into the corner with her toe.

"Claire," Wesker started out, the door clicking shut behind him, "you look well." He had bitten the bullet and spoken first, putting Claire somewhat at ease.

She looked up, a smirk on her face. "I feel well." Approaching him, she stopped in front of him, head tilted to the side. "You look good too," she told him, knowing he was probably itching to correct her grammar except she was commenting on his looks and not his health.

"I feel good," he responded, dropping her bag by his black boots. He reached out and grabbed her around the waist and pulled her in close. "Your boyfriend downstairs must be quite jealous right now."

Rolling her eyes, Claire dug her nails into the fabric of his shirt. "We were going to run off together and buy a chateau in France. You ruined it." She laughed softly, burying her nose in his collar.

"Dear heart, forget him. I'll buy France for you." He sounded serious and Claire knew that in some way, he was. He was always serious to some degree.

Leaning up on her toes, she brushed her nose gently against his. "Remind me to take you up on that later." Pressing her lips to his, her nose bumped into his glasses and she groaned loudly.

He grinned this time, a genuine smile gracing his lips. Pulling the sunglasses off, he set them on the table next to the keycard, revealing his demon red eyes. They were always brighter than Claire remembered but she could never forget the way they bore into her and scarred every inch of her skin.

She tilted her head back, baring a smooth expanse of neck to him. The ultimate sign of surrender and trust. "It's been too long," she murmured softly, her eyes locked on the red staring down at her. She said this each time and she always meant it.

Lowering his mouth to her neck, he agreed, his voice lost in her skin. Pulling off his gloves and setting them carefully down by his sunglasses, his fingers worked stealthily at her dress, pulling at the zipper and pushing the thin fabric down her body in one effortless motion, exposing soft skin and a lacy black bra with matching panties.

Wesker wrenched his hand in her hair, guiding her carefully through the room as their lips connected and tongues wrestled for dominance. Stopping when the back of her knees hit the mattress, he pushed her down and pulled his shirt over his head.

"Hurry," she demanded, her fingers reaching out and working at his belt buckle.

"Patience, dear heart."

Never one to be patient, Claire grunted and yanked his pants down his hips, breaking the zipper in the process. She expected to feel his hand cover hers, red eyes glaring down, scolding her for ruining a piece of clothing. Instead, he kicked the pants aside and crawled onto the bed, trapping her by anchoring his arms on each side of her torso.

"Hurry," she repeated, her hands exploring the pale skin above her, mapping out the flesh like it was the first time she'd touched it. Each time she wanted to memorize every scar, every blemish to his body but she always ended up forgetting.

Wesker grabbed her wrists, holding them above her head. His eyes blazed brightly, the flush of his skin illuminating his face. "Patience."

This happened so rarely, she couldn't wait to feel him, connect their bodies and souls together. She never could. Once a month wasn't enough. It would never be enough and every time they met in this hotel, she always asked him to hurry and he always chided her with patience.

Their meetings were like broken records, stuck on the turntable for years on end. Once a month, health and biohazard outbreaks permitting, they met and the same scenario would play out. The bar and the symmetrical face guy on this night had been new but that had been Wesker's fault for being late.

This room was their sanctuary, a place where the Umbrella Corporation and B.O.W.s didn't exist. Where she was just a broke college student, struggling to find a direction and a major and he was Wesker, proud and worthy S.T.A.R.S leader.

There was an unspoken agreement that work was never talked about. Plans and operations, assignments and stakeouts were never spoken of. Family was rarely spoken about as well, a rule Claire often broke. Her stories always involved her brother and when his name slipped from her lips, Wesker always pursed his lips, his nostrils flaring. He always listened though and she knew he silently forgave her for the slip up.

The only umbrella they mentioned was used for protection from the rain. It was a system that had been working for too many years to count. But eventually, they both knew it had to come to an end. They couldn't hide from each other in plain sight forever.

Clothes littered the floor and the sheets rustled silently in the pale moonlight filtering in through partially closed blinds. As he finally slid into her, Claire sighed in relief, her eyes fluttering closed. She felt whole, complete, like she had found the missing piece. Arching her back, she moaned softly, her fingernails digging into Wesker's broad bicep.

"Open your eyes," Wesker demanded, slowing his movement to a standstill. He loomed over her like a wild animal protecting his catch of the day, breathing hard and uneven. "Look at me."

Blue eyes opened and she looked at the man above her who forced her deny everything she ever believed in, even for a day. Sometimes denial was the only thing that helped her sleep through the night.

This wasn't her real life. It was imaginary, fake. A world made up of broken dreams and promises. Nightmares left behind and replaced with cold comfort in the arms of an enemy.

This was all she had to look forward to.


	2. Here Comes the Sun

Running Up That Hill

(Here Comes the Sun)

The problem with Wesker (that is one problem since Claire could write an entire book about what was wrong with Wesker) was that he lacked a sense of humor. In fact, he lacked almost every emotion that made up the very fabric of a human being. He didn't laugh at dumb movies like Claire did. He didn't smile at babies and tear up over the numerous deaths he'd witnessed.

She got to see the real Wesker and even then the most she was able to get out of him was a smirk and a raised eyebrow, a cold comforting hand on a warm shoulder.

He was some forgotten god from Mount Olympus, larger than life and towering down over the insignificant peons. He was distant and foreboding, chiseled from marble by careful hands. A figure to be worshipped from afar but Claire refused to bow down to the altar of Wesker.

She knew he was made out of flesh and blood, just like she was, regardless of all of the changes his body had gone through. There was still some soul in him and each time she managed to get a genuine smile out of him, she felt as though she had just uncovered another piece of his forgotten humanity.

Even now, after the throes of passion were over and done with, she looked at him with a certain curiosity, trying to discover another piece of the puzzle. After so many years, the puzzle was far from being completed.

He tilted his head, unhidden red eyes tracking her every movement like she was some sort of prey out on the wild and he was waiting to pounce on her. "You have that look again."

Shit. She'd been caught. Claire smiled softly, quickly turning her head away "Just hungry," she said, trying to cover quickly. She was laying on her stomach, head resting in her hands, breasts mashed down against the mattress, legs angled up, swaying in the air.

Wesker's back was stiff against the mahogany headboard, cream Egyptian cotton sheets draped across his thighs. He cherished the idea of modesty, apparently. "Yes, you must be famished," he conceded, running his hand across Claire's bare back.

Claire shivered at the surprisingly soft hand ghosting across her skin, goosebumps rising on her forearms. She always expected his hands to be rough, callused from years of combat and things she didn't know about or want to think about. But each time he touched her, it was like it was the first time when his hands had no blood on them.

"You have no idea." Claire pulled herself up and sprawled across his lap, the sheet the only barrier keeping them from being skin to skin, stomach to thigh. Reaching her hand out, her fingers wiggled in the air, an inch too far from the ever elusive room service menu laying on the nightstand.

Wesker extended his arm, his hand passing over his magnum and her berretta resting together on the nightstand, within reach just in case. He grabbed the menu and handed it over to her. "You'd best hurry."

Menu in her hands, she looked up to see the sun rising over the city skyline, purples and oranges kissing the horizon in a good morning greeting. She always hated to see the morning arrive, the point where she would have to say goodbye and face the real world again. They'd return to being enemies, foes at the opposite side of the spectrum fighting for separate causes. She'd have to start the wait of another long month.

"We have time," she urged, grabbing the phone and placing a quick order for an omelet and hash browns. She didn't bother to order anything for him. He hardly ate and when he did it was always a rare steak, dripping with blood. Claire didn't ever ask, didn't want to know why he didn't indulge in food the way he used to. That would be crossing the imaginary line they had drawn between them.

He stared down at her, blood red eyes burning a hole into her body, skimming her figure like she was an open book. Sometimes she thought he could see the secrets she was carrying around. It scared the shit out of her. If she slipped up, she could ruin everything. The plans that were in motion, the lives they were trying to save. This could ruin all of it. She risked it all to be with him for these few stolen hours.

Over the years she had almost perfected the walls she had built in her head, the part of her brain that accessed her daily life. She blocked it all out and stored it away. The unspoken rules were the only thing keeping this alive, holding this abomination together. And Claire could barely manage to follow them.

She wanted to ask him so many questions. She knew so much about him and yet so little. The rules kept them from exploring the parts of each other's lives that came naturally to most couples. She wanted to know what happened to turn him into this monster. What was he thinking? What was he working on? Planning? How much blood was on his hands now?

Claire kept her questions, her thoughts, under lock and key. If she opened that barrel, she would never be able to close it again. She couldn't afford to lose this. Strangely enough, it kept her grounded. Sane. It gave her something to look forward to, something to live for. She couldn't deny the way she felt about him. If only he was someone else. Anyone else.

Wesker continued to rub his hand across her back, his thumb massaging small circles into her spine. When she tried to squirm off his lap, he held her firmly in place, fingers digging into silky flesh. "Going somewhere?"

She laughed, tilting her head to look him in the eyes, the demon eyes that haunted her when she slept. "Just getting comfortable." Pulling the sheet from his lap, she straddled his thighs, her hands pressing into his chest to keep her balance.

"Are you content now, dear heart?" he asked, his voice thick and drawn out, eyebrows raised in amusement. Another piece of the puzzle had fallen into place.

"Content? Never. But this will do." She leaned in and kissed him, pushing her tongue past his lips, seeking entrance into his mouth.

Wesker's body was strangely cold, a phenomenon Claire had grown used to over the years. At first she thought it was like kissing a dead fish, having sex with a day old corpse. But he was as alive as she was, thriving and breathing under her body. Wesker was no dead fish.

He opened his mouth to her, the only warm part of his body she was able to find. She gave her warmth to him. Beneath her, she could feel his length twitching and hardening against her thigh. Reaching down, never breaking contact with his mouth, she took him into her hand, stroking softly, eliciting a barely audible moan from the man below her.

She pulled her mouth away, moving down his body, his hands reaching out for her as she moved further from his reach. "I'll be back," she joked, her thumb swirling around the tip of his length.

Strong hands tangled in her auburn hair, free from elastic bands for the night, as she took him into her mouth. He pulled at her hair, almost guiding her head except Claire didn't need instruction on this particular lesson. She'd been told that she was pretty good at this even if she didn't have much practice outside of Wesker, and he certainly had never voiced any complaints.

Claire knew how to make him tick, how to take him into her throat and turn him into putty in her hands. A good blowjob could bring her worst enemy to his knees. Her tongue swirled around his flesh, mouth wide and wanting, her gag reflex lost long ago. Unexpectedly, she looked up at him and winked.

Grabbing at her, Wesker pulled her up and their mouths connected once again. He moved his mouth down her neck, his tongue darting out against her hot skin. He trailed down to her breasts, hands moving from her hair to push the round flesh together.

As he took a dark nipple into his mouth, Claire squirmed, a moan stuck somewhere in her throat. "I can't wait," Claire told him, her eyes closed tightly. She guided him toward her entrance and before he could chide her to be patient and wait, she pushed herself down, her head thrown back in ecstasy.

"Claire," he growled, his attention still focused on her breasts. He acted as if he were disappointed in her for being hasty, for not being able to hold off.

She knew he couldn't wait either. She pressed her hands to his face, one small hand on each side. "Albert, you feel so good." Claire wasn't much for the dirty talk, just plain honesty.

Wesker wasn't much for talk period. Like everything else he did, even sex was methodical and well thought out like he had a master plan branded into his brain. He didn't make a single move without thinking it out first, she was certain. The way he moved his mouth over her skin, his hips thrusting into her, it was all in a careful, meticulous manner. He never closed his eyes, just stared at her, his breathing jagged and uneven.

It was never boring though, never something she wouldn't crave a week later. She moved her body in an easy, smooth rhythm with his, innate and natural like this was the puzzle complete. A loud banging cadence reverberated off the walls along with them in perfect time.

Banging? No, wait. That wasn't normal. Claire lifted her head, auburn bangs falling into her face, stinging and burning her ocean eyes. She shook her head, the hair falling into place delicately around her features, and watched the headboard, waiting to see it thrash back and crash into the wall from the ferocity of their careful rhythm. The mahogany never moved.

Brow furrowed and glistening with sweat, Claire planted her hands on Wesker's smooth and broad chest, throwing the emergency brake on. "Shit," she swore, whipping her head around to look out into the main room. For a moment she thought they were in trouble. They had been found out and they were about to be ambushed. Her hand tentatively reached for the arsenal on the nightstand.

And then she started to laugh, a high pitched nervous giggle almost. "The door. Room service," she explained, her hand dropping back to his chest as her giggles deepened, nails clenching against his pale flesh. "Leave it!" Gasping for breath, she looked at him, eyes lit bluer than the midday sky, her mouth wrenched into a grin.

Wesker tilted his head to the side, looking at her with curiosity. He didn't seem nearly as amused by the whole thing as Claire was. Nothing ever amused him. "They will leave," he assured her, his hands reaching out for her.

Bright teeth standing out against dark lips, Claire yelled out again upon hearing the soft click of the door opening, "Just leave it!" She leaned her head against Wesker's shoulder, the cold metal of her necklace pressing into his skin. She shook a bit as she continued to laugh, deep laughs now pulling from her diaphragm.

Taking her head into his hands, Wesker lifted Claire's face to look at her, large hands enveloping her small features. There was no smile on his face to match hers. "They're gone." He leaned in to finish what she had started.

By the time Claire got to her omelet, it was cold as ice and the sun pouring in from the partially open scarlet drapery blinded her. She ate in silence, naked and freezing like her food as she sat at the large dining table by herself, one foot shoved under her body. This was the part she always dreaded.

Claire watched him out of the corner of her eye as he moved across the room, the knight putting his black armor back on. He was no knight and she was no damsel in distress. She watched as he pulled his arms through his holster, checking the clip before strapping it under his arm.

"It's that time, huh," she asked, pushing her half eaten plate away from her. Reaching down, she fingered the hilt of the bowie knife strapped to her inner thigh. She refused to be unarmed around Wesker, no matter what. If he had a weapon, so would she.

Wesker stopped at the window, pulling back the silk drapes to flood the entire room with sunlight. "The sun is at its highest peak." That was Wesker speak for "yeah, it's time."

Getting to her feet, she walked over to him, standing unabashedly in front of him. There was no need for modesty. "Later than usual."

"Yes. I'll have to make up for lost time." Wesker pulled his jacket on, completing his usual black outfit. It wasn't the same one he wore in but it might as well have been. Black was black and it all looked the same to a casual bystander.

But Claire could see the keen checker pattern, the intricate design, the linen lining of his jacket. He looked the part he played. As soon as he left the hotel room, so would she.

"Shame," she said flippantly, stepping around him to grab her bag. Sliding the front zipper open, she found an elastic band and pulled her hair up and away from her face, into it's usual ponytail. She needed to feel like herself again. The charade was ending.

A large hand wrapped tightly around her bicep, hard enough to leave finger shaped marks. Claire was suddenly pulled in close to Wesker's face, the red eyes still shining brightly yet to be hidden behind too expensive sunglasses. "What?" she asked, making no move to pull away. There was no point.

Wesker reached out and pulled the elastic band from her hair, the long locks flowing freely over her bare shoulders again. "Not yet," he demanded, breaking the elastic band with his fingers.

"That's the only one I had!" Claire huffed, pulling her arm out of his grasp. She inspected her skin to make sure he hadn't left a mark behind. She didn't need the questions that would come from them.

"You'll live," he told her, slipping the ever present sunglasses back over his eyes. Now the image truly was finished.

Claire rolled her eyes, walking away from him. She suddenly didn't want to be undressed anymore. As the real world blended back into view, she needed to rejoin reality just as he had done. "For how long?"

Wesker didn't answer her question. He gathered his bag, a black, leather laptop case. He never brought the laptop out that Claire knew of but she was certain he worked on his devious plans while she was asleep. The world was changing from the pounding of fingers against a keyboard while she slept next to the enemy.

Pulling a green and white wrap dress through her arms, tying it tightly at her hip, Claire felt a little better. She was at least dressed, armed and always ready for action. She itched to pull on the jeans she had sitting at the bottom of her bag, along with the large, cotton sweatshirt sitting on top of the pants that used to belong to Chris. She'd stolen it while he wasn't looking and later had convinced him that he had thrown it away. The second she was out of this hotel and into a cab, she was going to perfect the art of the quick change in a public place.

"Dear heart," Wesker snapped, shifting her attention back toward him and away from the comfort of a good pair of jeans, "don't forget to open your gift."

"Gift?" she asked, scanning the room quickly. Her eyes settled on a small box sitting on the dining table, next to her half eaten omelet. "Right. Thank you."

Wesker crossed the room, firm hands resting on her hips, pulling her towards him. "Next month." Leaning in, he captured her mouth with his but not in the ravenous way he had kissed her all night. This kiss was different, soft. No fight for dominance, no asking for entrance. His fingers crawled up her body and wrapped around the ring strung through her necklace, the ring that would be replaced with dog tags the second she got back to her apartment.

"Next month is too far away," Claire commented, her voice soft and barely audible. She prided herself on being a strong person, good with a gun and never afraid of the living dead. But this thing with Wesker turned her on her ass, flipped her upside down and inside out, pulled down almost every defense she had and set it on fire.

"It's closer than you think." He pulled away from her, his fingers now wrapped tightly around the laptop case. "Goodbye, Claire."

Before she could respond, say goodbye or beg him to stay for just a few more minutes, he was gone like he had never been there. He left no evidence behind except for the faint smell of his cologne and the box laying on the table.

He always gave her a gift and never stuck around to watch her open it. He'd given her almost every nice thing she owned. Rolex watches, Swiss chocolates, necklaces from Tiffany, perfumes from the most expensive and well known shops in Paris.

The gifts were like his calling card and she could always tell where he had been during the past month based on the gift. She figured it was his way of saying he thought about her outside of the hotel, when they were both on their own, pining for the time to pass. While the same rang true for Claire, she never gave him anything. What would she buy for a guy who could purchase France?

Claire gathered her things, armed herself to step back into the world, slipped on the highest and most annoying high heels she had worn the night before and strapped on her bright pink backpack before even approaching the box. She circled the table, her head tilted in thought about what it could be. Obviously some kind of jewelry. Another piece to add to her growing collection hidden deep within her closet.

After sizing up the box, squatting down by the table and inspecting it from every possible angle, she picked it up and shook it. "Albert, you fucker," she muttered to herself, pulling at the ribbon and watching it float to the ground. Inside the box sat a pair of diamond earrings, too many carats for Claire to comprehend.

She carefully took the earrings out and looking into a mirror, held them up to her ears. They were stunning, really. A pair of earrings that a celebrity would be seen wearing to the Oscars. Claire wasn't the kind of girl who wanted diamonds and flowers. She wanted a good handgun and new pipes for her bike. But the gifts were nice and she kept them as souvenirs, if nothing else.

Replacing the earrings in the box, she shoved it into the front of her backpack and left the room behind for another month. She stopped by the front desk to return her keycard, handing it back to Eric, the same clerk who checked her in, with a tight smile on her face.

"Enjoy your stay?" he asked, taking the card from her and putting it a pile of identical cards to be rescanned.

"It was something," she answered wryly, her thoughts still upstairs in the suite. A night together just wasn't enough but they couldn't afford anything else. Time was never on their side and neither was the rest of the world.

Eric smiled, that dumb grin that didn't seem to fade. "Something good, I'd hope." He handed her a statement for the room that showed the bill (the huge bill) as having been settled an hour beforehand.

"Something," she replied, nodding at him and walking away. She didn't need to explain herself to the front desk clerk or anyone else. Purposely vague was the way to go.

Shifting the bag on her back, she walked out of the hotel, the clicking of her heels on the tile announcing her departure. Ralph opened the door for her as she stepped into the too bright day.

"It's a fine day, isn't it, Miss Redfield?" Ralph asked, still immaculate as ever in his crisp, ugly uniform and pristine, white gloves.

Claire smiled at Ralph, the only person at the hotel who knew anything about her. He was someone she would shoot the shit with and not hide herself from. "Yes, just fine," she agreed, wishing for a pair of sunglasses to shield her eyes.

"Who do you like?" he asked, jogging down the front stoop and lifting his hand into the air to hail a cab for her.

Almost swallowing her tongue, Claire furrowed her brow. "Excuse me?" Did Ralph know more than he let on?

"MLB playoffs start this weekend, Miss Redfield." He flagged a yellow cab down and opened the door for her, his hand sweeping from side to side as a way to usher her in. "Any predictions?"

Claire had little time to follow sports but always faked her way through it with Ralph. "Oh. Los Angeles to take it all." She figured LA had to have a team in the playoffs.

"Maybe. Just maybe." Ralph smiled at her, laying a hand on her arm to help her into the cab. "You take care, Miss Redfield."

"See you next month, Ralph," Claire told him, getting into the cab and pulling her dress tight around her thighs to keep covered up.

Ralph winked at her and shut the door, peering down at her through the open window. "Next time, introduce me to that young man of yours."

"Young man?" She asked, biting down on her lip. She hadn't said a word to anyone about who she was meeting in the hotel. She started to wonder if there was more to Ralph than met the eye.

"Surely you have a young man in your life," Ralph said, squinting as he stooped down to talk with her.

Claire laughed, shrugging her shoulders. Nothing to worry about. She was overly paranoid. "We'll see." She lifted her hand and waved as the cab pulled away. She mumbled out an address and then turned in her seat, pulling her legs up next to her, craning to see what she was leaving behind.

She watched as the hotel shrank in the distance, smaller and smaller until she couldn't even see the larger than life marble columns anymore. She had to return to her real life, where dangers lurked around every corner, where nobody would understand this hidden life. She pulled her jeans out of her backpack, the denim soft and inviting against her fingers.

She was ready to become the real Claire Redfield again.

* * *

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has read, reviewed and enjoyed this fic! I've written more in this universe but since it's a bit disjointed at the moment, I've decided not to post it up to this website yet. If anyone is interested in reading, the fics are at my livejournal and my username is the same there. Happy reading!


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